


Between the Shadow and the Soul

by Thistlerose



Category: DCU (Animated), Justice League & Justice League Unlimited (Cartoons)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Episode Related, Male-Female Friendship, Multi, Redemption, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-17
Updated: 2014-10-17
Packaged: 2018-02-21 11:42:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2466998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thistlerose/pseuds/Thistlerose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Three times Flash held Shayera when she needed it, two times she hugged him, and one time Green Lantern held onto them both.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Between the Shadow and the Soul

Flash hugged her when she quit the Justice League, sweet and warm and clumsy, not quite sure where to put his hands to avoid bumping her wings. She’d appreciated it, but vaguely. At the time, she hadn’t wanted sympathy; all she’d wanted was to get away as quickly as possible, without having to talk to anyone, especially John. During the months she’d spent with Doctor Fate and Inza, she’d had plenty of time to wonder about the hug and what it meant. Flash had as much reason to hate her as any member of the League - more than most, perhaps, since he was John's best friend, and what she'd done to John was unforgivable. She'd spent long hours thinking about it, but the only conclusion she'd come to was that she didn't understand human beings at all.

Flash hugged her again when she returned to the League, a little tighter this time, a little more self-assured. She didn’t hug him back so much as sag against him in wordless, helpless gratitude. She’d needed someone’s arms around her then, a broad shoulder to hide behind: she’d just used her mace, wielding it for the first time since the Thanagarians’ defeat, to destroy the reanimated corpse of Solomon Grundy. To put him down like a rabid dog. She’d also just learned that John hadn’t merely moved on (not that she’d imagined she still had a chance with him): he’d moved on to another superhero in the League; one who just happened to be a drop-dead gorgeous runway model, and human.

And he seemed happy. He seemed to have forgiven her. They all did, except for Diana, and that – their willingness to forgive, to count her as a teammate, a leader even – was the hardest thing of all.

So she’d been grateful to the Flash for his kind gesture. But once he’d let her go, she’d put it from her mind. She had other things to worry about, after all: proving herself, learning everyone’s name and abilities, avoiding Diana, avoiding Vixen, avoiding John…

None of which was easy. The League had grown exponentially in her absence, but it seemed that everywhere she turned in the Watchtower, she found herself in danger of coming face-to-face with one of them. Sometimes she had enough time to pivot and start walking purposefully in the opposite direction, her wings folded close against her hunched shoulders, before any of them spotted her. Other times, there was nothing she could do but lift her chin and lower her lashes, studiously avoiding their eyes as she drifted past.

Once, she stepped onto a lift tube without first peeking inside and nearly walked right into John. Since there was no graceful way to extricate herself, and she’d be damned if she actually let him see her scuttle away in shame, she offered him a tepid smile which, to her surprise, he returned, the corners of his green, green eyes crinkling slightly. There was amusement in that grin and she wondered, with an irritated flush, if he wasn’t secretly aware of the lengths she’d gone to in order to avoid exactly this sort of situation. If he hadn’t been aware all along.

“Still hate the beard,” she muttered, arms crossed over her chest, and after that it was twenty seconds of uncomfortable silence, which felt more like twenty minutes. The lift seemed tiny; though she kept her wings folded tight against her back, she could almost feel him, his warm breath brushing her temples, her feathers. She was tempted to steal a glance at him, to see if he was squirming too, but she kept her neck and shoulders rigid, her eyes resolutely on the lift door.

She started to leave as soon as it reopened, and so did John. They nearly collided again, and ended up doing an elaborate, awkward dance of avoidance, muttering “After you – no, after _you_ ,” with palms upraised and guts sucked in – all under the sardonic gaze of Batman.

Angry – at John for ruining her exit, at Batman for being there to witness their childish behavior, at herself for too many reasons to list – she fled down the window-lined corridor. This small section of the Watchtower was purposefully dark; so one could look thoughtfully at the stars and not be distracted by any ambient lighting, Shayera imagined. A nice touch. The Justice League must never lose sight of what really mattered, at the bigger picture, or they’d risk turning into the Justice Lords. A pale blue gleam caught her eye and she paused.

Below the Watchtower, the Earth rotated slowly on its axis. Shayera could see the white swirls of the clouds, the vast blue oceans, the continents with their jagged coastlines. How empty they all looked from so far above, and without the aid of telescopic instruments. How beautiful, but how eerily lifeless.

 _For this I gave up Thanagar,_ she thought, more wondering than regretful. _For this little world, I condemned my own people to a war they may not win._ She’d do it again. (And, for all she knew, she had; if there was one parallel universe, there could be millions more. She could have done it over and over again. Betrayed her friends. Betrayed her people.)

She didn’t hear Flash’s approach, but suddenly his reflection was beside hers. She lifted her head but didn’t turn.

He spoke first. “So, I heard about you and GL in the lift.”

“Word travels fast,” she said dryly.

“Almost as fast as me.”

She didn't have anything witty to say in response.

"Heard you dissed his painstache." 

"His _what_?"

"Painstache. Which is like pornstache, which is like mus-- Oh. Oops. Can we forget I even mentioned it? Please? So, uh, anyway,” Flash went on, scratching at the back of his neck, his posture suddenly awkward, “I thought you could use, I dunno, companionship. Or something.”

“I don’t need anyone. Not right at this moment,” she added, lest he think she was considering flying off on her own again. "And it was his beard."

“Oh, okay. Well—”

Shayera closed her eyes. When she opened them again a moment later, Flash was gone. She sighed and tipped her head back slightly, so she could no longer see the Earth. She was unaccountably disappointed. Not that she’d wanted to talk, but it had been sweet of him to think of her. Unless, she thought with a frown, he had come here hoping to catch her on the rebound, or whatever the stupid phrase was. The idea gave her stomach a twinge. But then she told herself that _if_ that had been his purpose, he'd have been upfront about it. _That_ was the Flash's style.

The rush of air at her back told her he’d returned. “Are you _sure_?” he asked, spreading his hands and cocking his brows appealingly.

Shayera laughed. It was the first time in a long time, and it came out rough and abrupt, catching in her throat and sounding more like a cough. 

"Uh, not sure if you need a hug or the Heimlich maneuver."

She laughed again, a short, helpless sound. "Oh … Wally." It still felt strange to use his real name. Unearned, somehow. When she'd first returned to the League, J'onn had told her that they'd all revealed their secret identities while on the run from the Thanagarians. He'd told her Batman's, Superman's, and the Flash's real names - the only ones she hadn't known - and at the time it had felt like a privilege, a vote of confidence. 

He hadn't meant it that way at all, she'd quickly realized: to entrust was also to burden.

To hide her discomfort, Shayera half-turned and offered Flash a fumbling smile. Amazingly, he seemed to understand, or at least that was how she chose to interpret the flicker in his eyes, the slight twitch of his lips. Instead of wrapping his arms around her as he'd done on previous occasions, he raised a hand to cup her shoulder, offering her a safe but unenclosed space by his side. 

She didn't say anything, didn't move any closer, and he could have taken her silence and stillness for rejection, but he didn't. Instead, the corners of his mouth curled upward slightly, and then he looked away from her, out toward the scattered stars and the softly glowing curve of the Earth. They stood together like that for a long time, Shayera drawing warmth from his gloved hand, not knowing what - if anything - he was getting from her. She kept expecting him to speak, to make some silly quip, but he never did.

That was the third time he held her when she needed it, and though she didn't realize it until later, that was also the moment she began to think of him first and foremost as Wally.

~*~

The fourth time came right after she returned from Tartarus with Diana, where they'd helped Hades win back his throne from Felix Faust. That time, and for the first time, she was the one who sought him out, and it wasn't solace she wanted but someone with whom she could share her triumph. She felt bad about burning Hades's library, but the look on Faust's face had been worth it. She wished she could have been the one to destroy the Annihilator robot, but watching Diana smash it - and Faust - to pieces with her mace had been almost as satisfying.

And now she and Diana were reconciled. They might never be friends again, but at least they'd reached a point of understanding and could function together as a team. And that was good enough.

Wally hadn't exactly been instrumental in bringing that about, but he'd tried, and for that Shayera thought he deserved a hug.

She found him in the lounge, munching on a stack of pastrami sandwiches and staring abstractedly at the window. She came up behind him and draped her arms loosely around his shoulders, letting her chin rest in the dip of his clavicle. She laughed when he jumped in surprise, and whispered, "Thank you." 

"Um." Wally gulped down the last bite of his sandwich and half-turned to look at her. "Thank _you_. Everything go okay? Where did the two of you even go? I'm so not in the loop."

"We went exactly where Diana wanted me to go - to Hell!" There was a tiny spot of mustard at the corner of his mouth. He seemed entirely unaware, but the moment she noticed it she felt awkward. People - Vixen among them - were beginning to stare. Flushing, Shayera straightened stiffly and took a step back away from him. "Anyway," she added with a casual shrug, "thank you."

"For what? I've been here this whole time. Not that I mind taking credit," he added, folding his arms along the back of the chair and grinning up at her impishly. 

"I'm sure you don't. Easy there, tiger," Shayera drawled and pointed to the corner of her own mouth.

Wally blinked at her for a second, puzzled. Shayera shook her head. She was tempted to do it for him, but resisted the urge; she didn't want to embarrass him - he was younger than most of the rest of them, but he wasn't a child - and she didn't want anyone, including him, getting any ideas. "Use your napkin, superhero," was all she said.

"What? Oh." Wally swiped his knuckles across his mouth. "So, uh, care to join me? Post-battle snack?"

Once again she was tempted. She missed her post-victory drinks with John. They used to go to some of the worst dives in Metropolis - or Gotham, if they were feeling adventurous. They'd sit at the bar, clink their beer bottles, and drink, each watching over the other's shoulder for signs of trouble. She looked at Wally, considering. Then she looked past him, at Vixen and her friends. Vixen raised her sleek, dark eyebrows, not in challenge so much as appraisal.

It was Shayera who glanced away first. "Not today," she told Wally.

He might have drooped a little, but on the whole he didn't seem too crestfallen. It wasn't like him to sulk, she supposed. "Some other time?"

"Sure," she said, honestly wondering if she actually would.

 

She did, though, a few weeks later. He wasn't in the Watchtower when she returned from her mission with Vixen and Vigilante, so she had to travel to his apartment in Central City to tell him that things weren't over between her and John after all. "Not necessarily," she amended when Wally raised his eyebrows at her. "He's still with her, and I'm not going to try to sabotage that. I couldn't do that to either of them. But … you never know. At least I have a little hope."

"It's nice to have a little hope," Wally said, and there was something strange in his tone, something just a little bit … forced, which was uncharacteristic of him. Shayera cocked her head and stared at him thoughtfully.

He looked fine. He seemed to have just gotten up when she rang his doorbell, since he was dressed in old gray sweatpants and a white t-shirt, the locks of reddish hair all askew across his forehead. She'd said she could come back another time, but he'd invited her in, told her he was making coffee, and that he always made enough for two just in case any pretty alien women showed up on his doorstep...

He seemed fine. Shayera gave herself a mental shake and moved on. She wanted to talk about John, if only to avoid talking about what she'd learned of Thanagar and Hro Talak's fate. Sometime soon, she knew, the enormity of it would hit her, and she'd be brought to her knees. She could see it looming, a shadow on her horizon. But she'd known for months that this would be the outcome of her actions. Hro had told her again and again that without sacrificing the Earth, Thanagar was doomed. She'd believed him back then, but she'd made her choice. She'd known what would happen. So she could put off thinking about it for a little while. 

Right now, she only wanted to talk with her friend about positive things.

She followed Wally into his small, messy kitchen and watched him retrieve two mugs from the cabinet over the sink. "These are dirty," he muttered and reached for the sponge. "So, you and Mari gonna duke it out or something? I'd watch that." He winked at her over his shoulder.

She laughed. "I bet you would. How well do you know her?"

"Not too well. I made my play when she first came on board. I mean, can you blame me? Got shot down, _of course_ ," he added with a dramatic sigh. "We don't really interact. GL doesn't talk about her much. He's never been one to kiss and tell. I didn't even know about the two of you until … you know. Things."

"Right," said Shayera, looking out the kitchen window at the gray afternoon sky. "Things."

"I can pretend to know some horrible things about her, if you want."

"No thanks. It's too petty. Not to mention hypocritical. I don't know if I like her very much, but I respect her. And I respect John. I meant it: I'm not going to try to sabotage what they have."

"But you still think you have a chance with him?"

"Yes," said Shayera.

"That's nice."

There it was again: that strained note; this time she was sure she hadn't imagined it. She looked at him again sharply, watching as he dried the two mugs with a dishrag, then set them down on the counter and reached for the coffee pot.

"Wally?" she said. "Whatever happens - _if_ anything happens - I wouldn't hurt him again."

"I know."

 _Because you trust me or because you know I have nothing to betray him for now?_ But she couldn't ask him that. Instead she said, "Is everything all right?"

"Course," he said without missing a beat. "Why do you ask?"

His answer was entirely too pat, his smile as he handed her her coffee just a sliver too taut. Their fingertips brushed as she took her mug from him and he looked away quickly, ducking his head as if embarrassed.

No, Shayera thought. Wally West did not have feelings for her. That was absurd. If he wanted her, he'd have given her some clue before now. She'd seen him flirt with other women; he wasn't exactly good at being subtle. Didn't he just tell her he'd made a pass at Vixen and been shot down?

She sipped her coffee, but it was too hot and scalded her tongue, so she carefully set the mug down on the kitchen table and continued to study Wally. He was busying himself with spoons and small jars.

"Should've asked before, what d'you want in your coffee? I have sugar. There's cream in the fridge."

"It's fine," Shayera said. "I drink it black. Wally…" She trailed off, bit at her lower lip, considering. She thought back on all he'd said since she showed up - which wasn't much, admittedly - and a strange idea began to take shape. She cocked her head to one side, trying to imagine it… Finally: "Vixen?"

"Huh?" said Wally.

"Mari, I mean. You're not still interested in her, are you?"

"What makes you think I'm interested in anyone?"

"I don't know. You didn't answer my question."

"It's not her."

"Who, then? It's not--" She laughed suddenly as another idea, even more bizarre, struck her. "It's not _John_ , is it? Because that's--"

His shoulders hunched and he set the sugar bowl down with a clatter. 

A thick silence followed, which Shayera's softly breathed "Oh" barely punctured. "Oh, Wally." She was horrified. And also thoroughly confused. "But, wait a minute…"

"I do like girls," Wally said at length, tonelessly. "Women, I mean. Mostly. But it's different with him. He's just…"

Shayera waited.

"...GL."

"Do you love him?"

A shrug.

"He doesn't know, does he?"

Silence.

"Oh, Wally."

"You keep saying that."

She did, she supposed. But only to avoid saying something else. No, she decided a moment later; she had to know. Trying to keep her tone even, to avoid accusing him directly, she said, "Is that why? Why you've gone out of your way to be nice to me ever since the invasion? You figured we were in the same boat?"

"No!" He banged the counter, without much force, with the heel of his palm. She wished he would turn and look at her, to reassure her, because she'd never seen him like this. "C'mon, does that sound like something the heart of the team would do?" She didn't like the bitter edge to his tone. "I care about _you_. I swear, I really do. It doesn't have anything to do with him. If you'd been hung up on Superman, it would be the same. You're my friend. Besides, I knew we were never in the same boat."

The pain in his voice made her eyes sting, and she closed them momentarily. It wasn't fair, she thought, that they couldn't all get what they wanted: she, Vixen, Wally, and John. In a parallel universe, maybe. Out of all the millions upon millions of parallel universes, there had to be one where each of them got what they wanted. Maybe there was even one where she found a way to save both the Earth and Thanagar. The thought gave her little comfort.

Opening her eyes, she crossed the tiled floor to where he stood and put her palm between his shoulder blades. "I'm sorry," she whispered. A shudder went through him. Then he turned and without a word he was in her arms, his fingers scrabbling at her back, heedless of her wings. She didn't care. She held him as tightly as she dared, her hands locked around his waist, her face buried in his shoulder.

The coffee got cold.

~*~

Millions upon millions of parallel universes. One perhaps where she didn't betray her people and the Earth was reduced to rubble; one where she and John were happy together; perhaps even one where he was with Wally. She had no way of knowing. All she knew with absolute certainty was that there was one where Wally died, and that was one entirely too many.

So when he disappeared into the Speed Force after severing Lex Luthor from Brainiac, Shayera reached right in after him, not giving the slightest damn about any possible consequences. As she groped for his wrist and, finding it, pulled with all her strength, heels digging into the dirt, wings beating frantically, she was aware of blinding light, the overpowering smell of ozone in her nostrils, and a hideous and inexorable tug, not just on her arm but on every atom of her being. She felt herself sliding forward and coming apart in the process.

She would have been sucked in too if someone hadn't grabbed her other flailing hand and held it fast, anchoring her. She knew it was John, even before he called out to Wally, ordering him to hold on, to come back. 

Her arms and leg muscles ached from the strain; the light dazzled her eyes. And then she was moving backward as Superman, Batman, Wonder Woman, and J'onn lent her their strength as well. And then Wally came stumbling out of the portal, looking battered and bewildered but _whole_ , and he crashed into Shayera, who in turn fell against John, and they all collapsed to the ground in a heap.

Before she had time to catch her breath, Wally was talking (of course he was talking), muttering about how if he ever went that fast again, he wasn't coming back… He sounded so calm, so rational, as if he hadn't very nearly _not come back_ this time. Shayera pushed herself up and cupped his cheek, looking for signs of shock or injury, but also just wanting to touch him. His skin was chalky, his pulse a blur beneath her fingertips. But his eyes met hers and she read no confusion in them, only deep, deep weariness and perhaps a trace of sorrow; he'd said the Speed Force was beautiful…

Then he winked. It took her by surprise and she didn't know if she wanted to laugh or hit him. Probably laugh. And she would have, if she hadn't suddenly remembered that Diana, Batman, and the rest were standing around them in a protective semicircle, watching, and that John was still sprawled on the ground with them, and that he hadn't said a word.

She looked up at him finally. He was ashen. His hand gripped Wally's shoulder in a hold that looked tight enough to bruise, but his eyes were fixed on her. (Those green, green eyes, she thought; she was tired enough to allow herself some sentimentality.) He seemed to be wrestling with some emotion; his mouth worked and he shook his head once or twice, but nothing was forthcoming.

And that was all right, Shayera thought. For now, at least. He would reach his own conclusions as she had reached hers: gradually, and not alone. 

_Millions upon millions of worlds._

Who could predict what might happen in any one of them?

This was the one she had chosen, the one she would fight to hold onto: this world and these people. _Her_ people now. And if she had regrets … well, she just had to own them, and apologise to those who would let her, and move on. She couldn't change what had happened. Wouldn't. This was her world, and for the first time in a long time, Shayera Hol felt at peace.

10/16/2014


End file.
